


what have we done to each other

by ajj



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst I guess, Established Relationship, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Mentions of sex but no actual porn, Mostly sticks to canon but strays a little, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajj/pseuds/ajj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal's relationship, from start to end - never meant to succeed, and never doomed to fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what have we done to each other

**Author's Note:**

> GOD lmao ive been fixated on hannibal ever since the finale and i cranked this entire thing out in a few days - it's long and i considered making it multiple chapters, but decided against it. i feel like it flows better without chapter breaks. at any rate, most of it is the work of my imagination abt what exactly hannibal and will's relationship was, esp. during the parts we didn't see. i hope people enjoy it - i might get motivated to write more !

“Get close to him,” Jack had said. “See what you can get out of him. A confession is what we’re hoping for, though it’s unlikely, but he trusts you more than anyone else, Will. If he admits anything to anyone, it’ll be you.”

Hannibal wouldn’t admit anything to anyone. That much Will knew. He wasn’t stupid—if Hannibal admitted to anything, it wouldn’t be direct; he would dance around the truth in that way that he always did, admitting just enough to raise eyebrows but never enough for it to be used as evidence. He wouldn’t give the FBI anything to work with. No matter how much he trusted Will, he would not place that trust before his own safety.

He decided to humor Jack regardless, and part of him took it as a challenge to see just how much he could get Hannibal to say. And, well—Will would have been lying if he said he wasn’t willing to play dirty to reach that point. An innuendo here, a lingering touch there, and soon enough there was a certain intensity in Hannibal’s eyes that Will couldn’t ignore. The looks read almost as a threat, almost daring him to continue teasing without a follow-up.

In the end, Hannibal’s secrets might have been hidden under lock and key, but doesn’t everyone want to have trust in their lover?

That was how he’d ended up in this position—his back pressed hard against Hannibal’s office ladder, their lips connected, his hands roaming down Will’s thighs and teasing at the top of his belt.

Will hadn’t been with a man since his first year of college; he made things up as he went along, unsure of what Hannibal liked but almost positive that it would likely be very specific and perhaps a bit odd. His tongue tasted like wine and, Jesus, was he better at kissing than Will ever would have imagined.

Hannibal’s actions were slow and graceful, and Will couldn’t help but mentally compare them to his movements in the kitchen. Even the rough kisses and bites on his neck, which Will knew were a symbol of possessiveness, intended to stand out, felt somehow passionate even though they were anything but. Hannibal’s hands danced around the buttons of Will’s shirt, undoing it slowly and finally discarding it onto the floor, his eyes roaming over Will’s chest with a fire in his eyes that made Will’s heartbeat quicken. Will moved to unbutton Hannibal’s own suit, wanting to feel his skin, but Hannibal stopped him; he didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes told Will to not press the issue.

Will wasn’t one for intimacy, but for once, he didn’t want to push the other party away and run. He wanted more, needed more.

“Tell me what you want,” Hannibal whispered against Will’s ear, his voice husky with arousal and his accent heightened. Will shivered against the wall, and suddenly, he didn’t remember his original intentions anymore—all he knew was that he wanted more than he could put into words.

~

They started fucking during Will’s sessions after that, which slowly but steadily progressed into more intimate encounters—Will showing up at Hannibal’s house in the middle of the night and ending up sleeping in his bed; Will cheekily seducing Hannibal in the middle of a dinner party; and, Will’s proudest, distracting Hannibal enough while he was cooking to be allowed to get him off, despite Hannibal's strict rule of 'no sex in the kitchen.' Will enjoyed the hold he had over Hannibal—for a man who had to be in control of everything and everyone, he had a certain soft spot for Will. Or perhaps he liked how much Will was enjoying it and was simply allowing it to fuel his god complex. Will liked to believe it was the former.

He wasn’t any closer to any sort of ‘confession’ than he was when he started, but shit, he figured he was closer to Hannibal than Jack ever wanted him to be. Somehow, that didn't bother him.

The realization of just how far down the rabbit hole he'd gone hit Will as he laid in Hannibal's arms one night, throat raw from noises he'd been making (despite several comments from Hannibal about how loud he was in bed, Will could never get more than the occasional moan out of Hannibal and that signature growl he made when he came), closer to the Chesapeake Ripper than he'd been with anyone else in his life. This was surely the devil's den if there ever was one.

And damn, if he didn't love every minute of it.

It went against everything he stood for. It was directly disobeying his boss's orders and an outright middle finger to the society that was rallying for the Ripper's capture. It was dangerous, self destructive. Was Hannibal planning on killing him? Eating him? Perhaps something far worse than either of those alternatives? Will didn't know. The man was an enigma. He knew some, perhaps more than most, but not enough.

Every bit of him wanted to see Hannibal locked inside a cell, just as he had been—and at the same time, every bit of him wanted to continue lying there with him forever. Half of him wanted to kill him, to try and finish what he started, and half of him wanted Hannibal to kill him first. As much as he wanted to see Hannibal's blood pooling around him, he wanted to feel his own blood, warm and thick, leaking out of his own skin.

Did he want to die? No; but somehow, feeling himself bleed out by Hannibal's knife didn't seem to be the worst way to go.

The lines of love and hate seemed to blur when he was around Hannibal. They became two sides of one coin. Loved the man, hated the sin. Couldn't live with him, couldn't live without him.

It was a strange feeling—burning and painful, fuelled by compassion and intensity. Did that qualify as true love or complete hatred? Will didn't know.

Will leaned up and pressed his lips against Hannibal's. He didn't need to choose between right and wrong or love and hate, not yet; and even when he did, he had a feeling he would make the wrong choice—whichever the wrong one might be.

~

Will glimpsed Hannibal stepping out of the shower one night. He wasn't sure if Hannibal thought he was asleep, or that he would leave, or if he wanted him to see—whatever his reasons were, Will's eyes landed upon Hannibal's chest.

The skin on his chest was mottled with scars of varying intensity, visible even beneath his chest hair. Many of them were short, angry red lines—telltale signs of long-healed knife wounds, which wasn't surprising, all things considered. There were small round spots of pink flesh dotting some areas, which Will imagined to be bullet wounds. Again, not entirely surprising.

No, the surprising scar was the long, wide gash striping his pectorals. Though obviously an old wound, the flesh was still bright red and glowing pink on the sides, as if it were still fresh. Will hadn't seen a scar like that before, but he didn't need to in order to know that it must have been painful, deliberate, and inflicted with a special kind of hatred.

Hannibal eyed Will as he stepped closer, wanting a closer look of the scars. Will gently placed a hand over the marked and wounded skin, his fingers ghosting over the slightly raised skin; Hannibal's eyes closed, but he didn't move away or swat Will's hand.

"Hannibal."

He didn't answer, but he opened his eyes, gazing down at the shorter man. Will couldn't read his expression.

"Who did this?" It was a risky question, but he had to know. If there were ever a time he wanted to kill someone, brutally and wickedly, this was it. He tried not to think about what the flutter his heart gave at that thought meant.

"Many people, Will. It would bore you if I were to list off all the names. It should not shock you that I have made many enemies."

He was avoiding the question. Will didn't care about the small and insignificant scars, and Hannibal knew that. He wanted to know who had inflicted that massive, evil scar so long ago but forcefully enough that it hadn't faded with age.

Hating Hannibal was easy. That he knew firsthand. But if this scar were as old as he imagined it to be...

Anger rose in Will's throat. Whether it was at Hannibal or the person behind the scar he wasn't sure. He didn't know if it mattered.

He moved his head downward to kiss the scar. "Tell me who did this, Hannibal. I'll kill them," he murmured against Hannibal's chest. The conviction in his voice surprised even Will. He felt Hannibal's heart beat faster.

"I'm afraid I took care of that long ago, Will." He ran a hand down Will's back gently; if Will didn't know better, he would have called the action loving.

"I need to know who did it," Will insisted again, his lips still against the scarred flesh. "Humor me, Hannibal, for once."

There were a few moments of silence. Will moved his head to stare up at Hannibal expectantly.

"Child abuse," he said finally, "is more common than one would hope."

Will's suspicions were confirmed, and his heart broke. The answer was more than enough, for the time being. Will wasn't sure if he could handle knowing anything more and being unable to do anything to fix it.

He kissed Hannibal, because it was the only thing he could think to do; it was the only way he could say sorry. It was deep and passionate, and the warmth between their bare skin seemed to blanket Will in a sense of security. He moved to nuzzle Hannibal's neck, breathing in the scent of the expensive soap he always felt guilty using and aftershave.

"I love you," Hannibal murmured. His voice sounded low and distant. The statement sounded possessive, because it was. A prettier way of saying _you're mine._

Will's breath hitched in his throat. "I know," he said simply.

He didn't know why he didn't want to say it back. He knew he loved Hannibal, in some way or another.

Maybe he thought that if he didn't say it, it wasn't true. And then he wouldn't have to admit to himself that he'd fallen in love with this evil man; he wouldn't have to admit that White Knight Will was gone, and a stranger had taken his place.

~

"They know," was all Will said into the phone.

In his mind, the conversation didn't end at "They know." In his mind, he told Hannibal to run, run, run—to get away as fast as he could and that he'd catch up as soon as he could. In his mind, he told Hannibal that he loved him and that he couldn't live without him if he wanted to. In his mind, Hannibal had complied, hung up the phone, and ran away.

In a perfect world, that's how it would have happened. But Will's world wasn't perfect.

Worry coiled in the pit of Will's stomach like a snake. What if Hannibal didn't escape in time? What if he didn't try? What if they caught him? Killed him?

There were too many 'what ifs' for Will to sit back at home and wait to see the outcome on the news. He had to be there. He wasn't sure what his plan was; perhaps his ultimate goal was just to get Hannibal out of there safely. Part of him was hoping he wouldn't have to, that Hannibal would already be gone.

Will cursed when he saw other cars in Hannibal's driveway. That meant the scene inside was almost surely a bloodbath, whether Hannibal was winning or not. If nothing else, Will was comforted by the fact that there was not a police car in sight.

It took him by surprise to see Alana lying, broken and bloody, on the ground beneath the house. He knelt beside her, trying to gauge the severity of her wounds; he didn't feel better when blood bubbled out of her mouth as she tried to speak.

"Jack's inside," she gasped hoarsely.

Her phone lay next to her; surely she'd contacted authorities by now. They could help her more than he could, and that meant he had limited time. Will nodded and stood to enter the house.

He drew his gun upon entering the house, not really knowing why—why did he suddenly feel so afraid?

His face dropped as he rounded the corner into Hannibal's kitchen and stared into the teary-eyed face of Abigail Hobbs.

He couldn't comprehend her; she was impossible. She was dead. Or was supposed to be. But here she was, in front of him—almost as if she was waiting for him. Like a gift.

A gift...Will swallowed.

If she was here, surely Hannibal still was. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into an embrace and comfort her, but he couldn't. Now wasn't the time.

"Where is he?" Will asked softly. He braced himself for the worst, but Abigail didn't respond. Instead, her eyes moved behind Will. He tensed and turned around slowly, knowing what he would find.

Hannibal stood behind him, shirt and face coated in blood; Will didn't care to know who all it belonged to, and he tried to ignore the familiar feeling of lust rising in his gut at the sight. Hannibal's eyes bore into Will's soul, reading him. He pulled Will closer to him.

"You were supposed to leave," Will whispered desperately. Why? Why hadn't Hannibal left? His mind raced to comprehend Hannibal's line of thinking, and he found himself understanding far too late.

"We couldn't leave without you," Hannibal said, a sadness in his voice Will hadn't heard before. Will understood then. Why Abigail was there. Why Hannibal had refused to leave before Will arrived. Why things had gone down the way they did.

He felt the blade drive upwards into his abdomen, and he understood perfectly.

He crumpled to the floor, feeling warm blood pool around the hand he'd pressed against the wound. He and Hannibal's shirts matched now, he thought. Blood stained and wrinkled.

Will knew in his heart what Hannibal would do next. Hannibal would punish him, and there was only one way he could do that.

His arm wrapped around Abigail and pulled her against his chest. "Will you forgive me?"

"Please," Will whispered desperately. It was futile, and he knew it. Nothing would change Hannibal's mind. He'd set his fate in stone.

The blade swiped across Abigail's throat, splatters of blood falling in its wake.

Will couldn't help the cry that escaped his throat as she fell to the ground, bleeding out quickly. He dragged his pained body towards her. Laid a hand across her throat, as if to comfort her and take the pain away. He buried his face in her broken body, allowing the tears to fall. By the time she stopped moving and he raised his head again, Hannibal was gone.

There were sirens in the distance, but Will doubted a doctor could fix the wound Hannibal had opened in his heart.

"I forgive you," he whispered to an empty room.

~

Nobody was surprised to see that Will had survived his injuries.

The doctors all told him that the wound had been surgical. They told him that Hannibal had very much wanted Will to live.

"I know," was all he could say, ignoring their subsequent looks of confusion and concern.

Physically, Will was alive. Good as new, sewed back together again. He didn't feel it, though. He felt dead. He stopped looking at himself shirtless in the mirror because his eyes would always fall upon the scar and break his heart all over again. He stopped sleeping again; every time he slept, Hannibal was in his dreams. In those dreams, they were reunited again—eating fancy dinners and making love in some fancy hotel the way Hannibal had talked about so many times before.

When Will woke up drenched in sweat, shaking and alone, he would cry.

So he stopped sleeping altogether, napping only when the alternative was passing out from exhaustion.

He mourned for Abigail. Twice she'd been taken from him now. Sometimes he'd see her, or sometimes he'd hear her talking to him. He stopped denying the hallucinations after the first few weeks and began to embrace them, using them as an escape of sorts.

Jack and Alana didn't talk to him much. Jack was busy with his dying wife, and Alana...well, he supposed she had better things to do, though she did try to keep in contact. Frederick would reach out to him on occasion, but Will didn't want his attention; he found him rude. Freddie Lounds would talk to him, but only to try and haggle an interview out of him.

"What was the true nature of you and Hannibal's relationship?" Freddie had asked him once, after she showed up on his doorstep uninvited.

"That's for us to know, and none of you to find out." He'd closed the door in her face.

A year passed before Will decided to try going after Hannibal. He could have been anywhere on Earth by then, and Will had long accepted that the chances of finding him were slim—before the FBI did, anyway. But he knew Hannibal far better than any agent could ever imagine. He had a hunch. A hunch was all he had, but he had to trust his instinct.

"To Italy we go, then," Will murmured, talking to the Abigail Hobbs that he knew wasn't really there.

~

Many more months passed before he saw Hannibal again in the flesh. He had felt his presence, once, in the catacombs beneath Italy's streets. He'd told him he forgave him, because he didn't know what else to say. If Hannibal was there that day, he didn't show himself.

But now, here they were, together like Will's dreams had shown him so many times. Hannibal's face was bruised and battered like Will's, but he hadn't changed and, God, Will couldn't help but let his eyes roam over Hannibal's body, long denied the privilege.

Will had to kiss him, and he did; if anyone was watching, fuck them for doing so. That was their fault. This was their moment, a moment Will had been awaiting for far too long, and judging by Hannibal's eagerness, he felt the same.

"If I saw you every day, Will," Hannibal sighed against Will's lips, "I would remember this time."

Will smiled, partially at the idea of seeing Hannibal every day again.

They stayed in that position for a while, wrapped in one another's embrace, occasionally coming together for another kiss. For a while, Will felt elated, as if they were the last two people on Earth, free to be together without judgement or obstacles.

But it wasn't so, and reality crashed back down when Hannibal told Will that they needed to leave. Will knew he was right, and that it was time to do what he needed to do.

He rubbed his thumb over the knife's handle, secure in his pocket. As he walked with Hannibal to leave, deliberately straying a few steps behind, he drew the knife.

If Hannibal were to die by Will's hand, he would have peace. No more running after him, and no more hiding from him. No more nightmares. No more pain and heartbreak. No more of Hannibal's haunting control over his mind, causing him to question where he ended and Hannibal began. He could be the Will Graham from before he met Hannibal Lecter.

But did he want that, truly? Would he ever be satisfied with someone else, after he'd been with someone like Hannibal?

How many people could say that they'd killed for him, after all?

But Will knew what he had to do. And yet...there was a moment's hesitation, just long enough for a bullet to pierce his skin and cause him to stumble. It could only have been one person, Will knew. Chiyoh.

Will's mind began to drift shortly afterwards; he barely registered Hannibal carrying him to some unknown location and the sudden prick of a needle against his skin. Whatever drug Hannibal had given him, though, was potent enough to wake him from the foggy area between dreams and reality.

Blinking a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus, Will noticed Jack strapped to a chair across from him. They both sat at a long, nicely set dining table. Typical of Hannibal.

There was a dull throbbing in Will's chest that told him Hannibal had managed to dig the bullet out of him. He gazed up at Hannibal, eyes half-lidded, his breathing still heavy and ragged. Hannibal gazed down at him with a look that reminded Will of the day they'd first met—a smile of genuine warmth.

Hannibal had made soup, and he gently fed it to Will, unable to move his limbs.

The soup was sub-par compared to what Will knew Hannibal was capable of. He told him so, and Hannibal had chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the comment.

Will's half-conscious mind barely registered when Hannibal stood up and left the table; it barely registered when he heard the faint buzzing of a saw, steadily getting closer; it barely registered Jack's sudden begging and screaming.

It did, however, register the blood dripping down his face as the saw cut into his head.

The drugs were still heavy enough in Will's system for him to not feel pain. He faintly realized what Hannibal intended to do—to finally eat him, the way Will always suspected he wanted to, he supposed. After all, Hannibal's forgiveness was harder to earn than Will's.

It was a bit romantic, all things considered. Will remembered an article about the dangers of consuming the human brain, yet Hannibal was willing to go to those lengths to consume him. There were worse ways to go, he thought contently. Maybe it was the drugs coursing through his veins, but Will felt oddly at peace.

Hannibal's saw never reached the inside of his head, though; Will turned his head stiffly at the sounds of policemen violently entering, only to drop off again moments later.

There were worse ways to go indeed, and Will knew this was one of them.

~

Muskrat Farm was dank and dark, and Will found himself wishing he'd let his dogs eat the remainder of Mason's body that day he found them.

This was where they were going to die. After all they'd been through—Hannibal running from the FBI, Will chasing him to fucking Europe, finding each other, trying to kill each other—and they were going to die on a pig farm in Maryland.

Will boiled with rage as Cordell set he and Hannibal up at the dinner table. "It's a last supper of sorts. For you, anyway," Cordell had chuckled smugly, and Will wanted nothing more than to rip the fork off the table and use it to disembowel him.

He was disappointed but not surprised to find that he couldn't do that, so he settled on the next best thing.

As Cordell approached Will, he lunged out of his chair and sunk his teeth into Cordell's cheek, ripping a hunk of flesh out of his face. He felt blood rush into his mouth and spat it out onto the plate, blinking in surprise as the flesh fell out of his mouth. He couldn't help but think that if this was how it felt when Hannibal ate rude people, maybe he could develop a taste for it, too.

That was how most of his thoughts were these days—desperately trying to be repressed in order to uphold the illusion that he was not like Hannibal, but there all the same.

Face sticky with blood, Will gazed at Hannibal. _"I did this for you,"_ he wanted to say, but thought better of it, for the sake of his own sanity. He licked his lips and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

Hannibal gazed back at him with a look that could only be described as pride, and Will felt his heart swell with adoration. For the first time, he was somewhat thankful for the binds holding him to the table, because if there was nothing keeping him down he would have jumped Hannibal right there.

Will was pleased enough with himself to not struggle when Cordell had him wheeled away into a makeshift surgical wing with the threat of slicing his face off. And although Will knew, judging by Cordell's sadistic tendencies, he would make sure to cause as much pain as possible in the process, he couldn't bring himself to care. Will's assault probably hadn't helped his standing with Cordell, but he didn't regret doing it, not after Hannibal had given him that look.

Will suspected Cordell wouldn't be able to finish the job, anyway. Not with Hannibal still in the building. Hannibal wouldn't let Will die by anyone's hands other than his own; if Will hadn't known better, he would have called Hannibal a guardian angel.

But he did know better.

Guardian angel or not, Hannibal came through. He always did. Will wasn't surprised when Cordell was suddenly jerked backwards from above him, nor was he surprised at the subsequent wet gurgling sounds of someone choking on their own blood. He found himself rarely surprised when it came to Hannibal, and he tried not to think about what that meant.

Hannibal loomed above Will, undoing the binds that had been holding him to the surgical table. The moment his arms were freed, he found himself wrapping his arms around Hannibal's neck and pulling his lips against his own. He bit at Hannibal's bottom lip, tasted his blood mixing with Cordell's.

"As much as I would love to have you right here," Hannibal said feverishly, pulling away after a few seconds, "I'm not sure that you're up to it at the moment."

Will agreed with him; maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the drugs, but whatever it was, he saw dancing spots in his eyes and felt himself about to black out. And soon enough, he did.

Will awoke some time later, only to drift off again; but in the moments he was awake, he looked up into the night sky and saw the stars. He felt Hannibal's warmth around him, and noticed that Hannibal was carrying him bridal style.

He tried not to read into it.

~

Will's first thought upon waking up after healing was that, finally, _finally,_ he and Hannibal were alone.

As quickly as Will's broken body would let him, he tore his own shirt over his head and started clawing at Hannibal's. He had been sleeping, but he awoke at the feeling of Will's hands on him, and looked up at him in surprise. "Don't move so quickly. You'll tear the stitches."

"I haven't fucked anyone in a year, Hannibal," he hissed between kisses along Hannibal's jawline. "If I tear the damn stitches, do them again." He yanked Hannibal down onto his bed. Hannibal crawled on top of Will and stared down at him, feverish and sweating, below him.

A smirk spread across Hannibal's face. "You haven't had anyone since I left." It wasn't a question.

It was just like Hannibal to focus on that detail and relish in it. Will felt a blush spread from his cheeks to his ears. "Who else could I have?" _I'm yours,_ he wanted to say, but didn't want to fuel Hannibal's already inflated ego.

Hannibal didn't answer him; he hummed against Will's lips, running a hand through his curly hair. "You are magnificent," he murmured. Will shivered under his touch, partially because of the soft and gentle words, and partly because he was practically running on lust that had been bottled up for far too long.

That was what the encounter was—lust driven, passionate, rough. Hannibal could be gentle when he wanted to be, but now was not one of those times. There was no time for slow, gentle lovemaking then, not when cops could kick down Will's door at any moment, not when they hadn't felt one another's touch in months.

When they finished, Will stared up at Hannibal, panting and glistening with sweat, hair tousled, and he couldn't help the words that came spilling out of his mouth. "I love you."

It seemed somehow wrong to say the words then, so long after Hannibal said it to him for the first time, and after they'd just slept together no less. But his heart throbbed for the man above him, and he wanted Hannibal to know it.

Will didn't hate Hannibal, he realized. He never did. He hated himself for loving Hannibal.

Hannibal seemed to chuckle at Will's admission of his feelings. He leaned his head down and buried it in the crook of Will's neck. "And I love you."

It seemed impossible, and Will considered for a moment that he was hallucinating or dreaming and that he'd wake up in bed moments later only to find that he was indeed still entirely alone. He and Hannibal could never have a normal relationship, but this felt...normal. It felt right, it felt like home. It felt like, if only for those few minutes, they could be a normal couple and love each other in normal ways instead of doing everything in their power to destroy each other.

So Will let himself feel normal. He let Hannibal roll onto his side and pull him into his arms. He let Hannibal stroke his curls as he whispered things in his ear in languages he couldn't understand. He allowed himself those few minutes of happiness and security.

But Hannibal couldn't stay. He had to run, and Will couldn't go with him. It was Will's last ditch attempt at even a shred of self preservation—removing Hannibal from his life and moving on, no matter how much it might hurt.

"Hannibal?" Will grit his teeth, awaiting a response, hoping he hadn't fallen asleep.

He hadn't. "Yes?"

"Hannibal, I love you." He paused, searching for the right words.

"Do I sense a 'but' coming next?"

"I love you. But...I'm not like you," he forced out. The words tasted like a lie, no matter how much Will told himself they weren't. He rolled out of Hannibal's arms and turned over to face him. "I don't want this. I won't ask you to change, and I'm not like you."

Hannibal's expression was flat, unreadable. "Are you not, Will?"

"No, I'm not." He was growing exasperated. "Don't do that, don't mess with my head like that. This is hard enough as is."

"I should think it would be, considering I've just taken you to bed."

Will closed his eyes. "Stop it."

Hannibal didn't answer him, so Will spoke again. "I want you to leave, Hannibal. I don't want to see you. I don't want to think about you. I don't want to know where you are. I won't turn you in, but you can't stay here." The words were flat and forced. They sounded like lies, and he knew Hannibal would notice.

He felt the weight on the bed shift and opened his eyes. As Hannibal pulled on his discarded pants, Will couldn't help but watch the muscles in his back move. He tore his eyes away and stared at the wrinkled bedsheets.

"You can use the shower before you leave," he offered, assuming Hannibal would readily take the offer, considering he still had obvious sex hair and a layer of sweat on him; plus, God only knew the next time he would be able to shower if he was going to run.

Hannibal turned to face Will and cocked his head. "Without you? No."

Will didn't press him any further, afraid that his resolve would crumble like he knew it would if Hannibal kept talking.

Hannibal didn't say goodbye, and for that, he was thankful. He didn't want any last words to hang on to; it would just be more firepower for his mind to use against him.

Inevitably, when the FBI showed up on Will's doorstep later in the night, Will stepped outside and told Jack that Hannibal was gone. And then Hannibal stepped out from behind the house, surprising no one more than Will.

He held his hands high in the air and knelt in the snow. He turned to face Will, and the look he gave him reminded him of the way he'd looked earlier in the day when Will professed his love. "I want you to know where you can always find me."

Will didn't know what to feel. Part of him wanted to walk into the snow and kiss Hannibal—by their standards, it was almost romantic. He wanted to slit Hannibal's throat and then slit his own before the FBI could do anything. He wanted to murder the agents, one by one, and then allow Hannibal take him away to wherever he wanted to go.

He did not do those things. Instead, he stood and watched as Hannibal was cuffed and lead into the police car. Jack spoke a few words to him, but he didn't hear them. He watched as the car disappeared into the distance and returned to the house.

He went to take a shower, but the reflection of his naked body caught his eye. The reflection mocked him. His eyes roamed over the marks Hannibal had made—the love bites on his neck, the bruises on his thighs and thought, yeah, maybe he'd made a mistake.

~

Three years passed. Will held true to his promise, and avoided the BSHCI like the plague.

He would be lying if he said there weren't many days when he considered breaking down and just visiting Hannibal in the damn hospital like he knew he wanted to. It wasn't like they could do anything, after all; how bad could a visit turn out to be?

But his own hypocrisy disgusted him. He was the one that had turned Hannibal away, told him he didn't want to see him—it would take a lot of nerve to turn up there after those words had been spoken. Will also knew that the media would love to write a story about Will's sudden appearance at the Hannibal the Cannibal's prison cell.

So he didn't visit. Hannibal sent him letters, and he tried his best to ignore them, but he always found himself reading them when he couldn't sleep, which was often. Sometimes he found himself calling Hannibal's cell phone, only to hear the voice recording. They were unhealthy habits, he knew, but they kept him going.

Somewhere along the line in his life without Hannibal, he met someone. Molly. And for once, for the first time since he'd laid in bed with Hannibal the day he was arrested, he felt happy when he was around her. He felt safe, he felt accepted, which was a rare enough commodity for him as it was. She didn't completely understand Will's past, what with his incarceration and his relationship with Hannibal. Maybe that was for the best, he thought. He kept it as vague as he could, she didn't pry, and he was grateful.

Molly's son Walter took a liking to Will, and he enjoyed feeling like a father figure of sorts again; he wasn't Abigail, but he was a good kid, and Will liked him.

It was Will's own little family. It wasn't perfect, but neither was he, and he began to feel normal again. He still didn't sleep well—nightmares sucked, and when he wasn't having those, bouts of insomnia took their place. He had a little too much free time for his liking, because his mind would always inevitably wander back to Hannibal. The what ifs and what could have beens were ever present in his mind, no matter how much time seemed to pass.

Things were as good as they were going to get, and Will was okay with that.

And somehow, the moment he saw Jack rolling up outside his house in an FBI vehicle, he knew it was all about to fall apart.

He wasn't as bothered by that as he should have been.

~

Seeing Hannibal in his cell for the first time was a slap in the face.

He just didn't look...himself. His hair wasn't styled, he wasn't in one of his fancy suits, and there was a certain air of unhappiness about him that Will sensed no matter how much he tried to hide it. He couldn't help but feel guilty, like he'd somehow trapped Hannibal into that life. It felt like looking at a great and powerful animal locked behind a zoo cage—it seemed wrong and inhumane.

Will stumbled over his words after they stared each other down for a few moments. He awkwardly held the case file out and mumbled a few words about needing Hannibal's help with a file, not realizing that he'd referred to him as Dr. Lecter.

Hannibal eyed Will. "Are we no longer on a first name basis?"

Will held his ground, no matter how much it hurt to do so. "The less personal we are, the more comfortable I am."

"Hm." Hannibal strolled as close to the glass as he was able. "That is puzzling, Will, considering the last time we were together, you couldn't keep my name out of your mouth."

Will stiffened, feeling a blush form in his cheeks. He stared at Hannibal angrily, appalled that he would bring such a thing up with people obviously listening in and cameras everywhere. "Listen, if you don't want to help, I'm not going to force you. You can go back to doing whatever it is you do in there, since it's obviously much more interesting than this."

He was angry, angry because Hannibal was being the asshole that he was, angry because he knew he'd provoked it, angry that Hannibal was in there in the first place. He turned to leave. Not ten minutes with the man and his blood pressure was already rising.

"Give me the file, Will." Hannibal's voice was calm now, without a hint of annoyance. He waited expectantly as Will slowly slipped it through the metal slot.

He found himself watching as Hannibal flipped through the documents. Noticing Will's eyes on him, he raised his head and cocked an eyebrow. "I'll need some time with this."

"I—right. Of course."

Will left the room that time, and as he walked through the cold and depressing hallways, he couldn't help but feel like Hannibal was on the outside with him. He glanced over his shoulder, half disappointed when he realized that, of course, he wasn't.

On his way out, Alana stopped him with a concerned look on her face. "What did he mean when he said—"

He raised a hand to stop her; he knew how the sentence would end. "The less you know is probably better for all of us," he said honestly.

Seeing Hannibal had sent Will into a daze; obviously he wasn't as prepared for such an interaction as he wanted to believe. Talking to Molly on the phone later in the night grounded him to a degree, but there was only so much she could do over the phone, and he wasn't surprised when a nightmare woke him up in the middle of the night.

He was surprised, however, when he realized he'd called out Hannibal's name when he shot awake in bed.

~

"You know, I never would have pegged you as the jealous type," Will spat at Hannibal angrily.

"Jealous? Is that the word you've chosen?" Hannibal asked lazily, not bothering to even make eye contact with Will. "I apologize if you've driven the whole way here in hopes of seeing me in the throes of a breakdown."

Will's blood boiled. He had never tried to deny to himself that Hannibal was a bad man, but this was beyond even him. He hadn't even driven to the hospital to get an apology, because he knew Hannibal was beyond that; he wanted an explanation, and it looked like Hannibal was unwilling to give even that.

"You gave that sick bastard my address. You've had contact with him. You wanted him to hurt them, you probably told him how to do it—"

"If that is the kind of thing you've come to expect from me, Will, then I must say that I'm sorely disappointed in your lack of imagination."

For a half a second, Will felt hopeful that maybe, perhaps, Hannibal wasn't behind something awful for once. "You didn't give him my address?"

"I did." Not a hint of remorse, Will noted.

The moment of calmness was replaced by another hot flash of anger. "To think I considered the possibility of you being a half decent human."

Hannibal ignored Will. "But as for telling him what to do or how to do it...I'm sorry to say that I was not involved. I gave him your address without knowing what he planned to do. You'll forgive me, but our friend is struggling with issues I could not begin to fully understand. I assumed he would kill them, but there was really no telling what he might decide to do." Hannibal held his arms behind his back, approaching Will for the first time.

Will glared at him through the glass, daring him to speak first, and then wished he hadn't.

"On that note, Will...how is Molly doing?"

Will couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. If he hadn't hit rock bottom long ago, well, he had a feeling he had now. "She's lucky. But I doubt you care."

"On the contrary. You care about Molly; I care about your wellbeing," Hannibal said evenly. "Try to see things from my perspective, Will. Understand why I conveniently sent him when I knew you would be out. Understand why he hasn't touched you yet." He tilted his head to the side. "I imagine most people would call that affection, yes?"

Will shook his head in awe. "You'll be the death of me, Hannibal."

"If possible, I would like to avoid that."

Will wasn't sure if he should take the 'if possible' as a threat. He laughed humorlessly.

"Alana told me to be careful with you. That you'd get inside my head again. Maybe I should've listened." In a way, he was glad he hadn't—Hannibal's voice inside his head again was a welcome guest. In the first few months that Hannibal was gone, he felt lost without his influence guiding him. It had gotten better with time, but there was always a distant feeling that a part of him was somehow missing.

He wouldn't give Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing that, though.

Hannibal smiled at him. Whether it was a genuine smile or a dangerous one, Will couldn't tell. "Do I still have a hold over you, Will? Even after all this time?"

Will was faced with a decision: lie, and have it be obvious; or tell the truth, and open himself up for a lot of questioning.

He'd lied enough, he decided. To himself and everyone else, including Hannibal. "Yes."

Hannibal's eyes gleamed mischievously.

Will had had enough of Hannibal for the day, and perhaps for the rest of the year. He moved towards the exit. "Goodbye, Hannibal," he said solemnly, realizing all too late that he'd betrayed himself and dropped the use of Hannibal's formal title.

The name didn't make it past Hannibal's ears, but he didn't mention it. "Will," he called out.

Will looked over his shoulder.

"Was it good to see me?"

"Good?" Will stared at Hannibal and slowly shook his head. "No."

It wasn't good. It wasn't good because Will had spent three years creating a new life for himself only to have it all ripped away. It wasn't good because it had taken all of a few visits for Hannibal to get right back under his skin. It wasn't good because he'd heard people begin to whisper things about he and Hannibal being 'suspiciously close' or 'co-conspirators.'

It wasn't good because, god dammit, he was still in love with the man. 

~

Will clasped his sweating hands in his lap, fidgeting ever so slightly, staring at the woman across from him. He had to ask her. He had to know. He needed confirmation—if he was going to do what he wanted to do, he needed the truth.

Bedelia eyed Will expectantly. She didn't speak, but her knowing look told Will that she already knew what he wanted to know.

"Is Hannibal..." Will paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had to keep going. Had to force the hard part out. "Is Hannibal in love with me?"

She titled her head ever so slightly to the side, a knowing smile on her face. "Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the sight of you? Yes."

It wasn't the answer Will had been expecting; it was cryptic and ambigious, but her answer was apparent. Yes, Hannibal was in love with him, even if Will seemed to have done everything in his power to make that untrue.

Bedelia spoke again. "But do you ache for him?"

But it wasn't for her to know. It wasn't for anyone to know or hear those words, that admission of love, except for Hannibal.

"You understand that a relationship with Hannibal Lecter cannot and will not ever be normal," Bedelia stated slowly. "I learned that firsthand. If you are planning on changing him, I suggest you stop while you still have your life."

Will understood, and he had never wanted to change Hannibal anyway, not really. He acknowledged the statement and left Bedelia's office.

Asking and receiving that confirmation had been the easy part. Now came the hard part, the part Will knew that might end as less than pleasant.

He had to get Hannibal out of his cell.

~

Convincing everyone that staging Hannibal's escape was their best plan of action was easy, because in theory, it was true. Will wasn't planning on keeping things according to plan, but if he were, the plan had a good chance of success. The Dragon would surely not pass up an opportunity to meet with Hannibal in person.

What wasn't easy was Hannibal's conditions. Hannibal wanted Will to ask. He wanted Will to grovel. Most importantly, he wanted Will to say please.

To the others, it was Hannibal's smug reminder that they depended on him coupled with his obsession with good manners that made him ask such a thing. Will knew better. Hannibal enjoyed making Will say please whenever they would sleep together. Will's begging had been music to his ears, and it would be exactly like Hannibal for him to remind Will of that.

Will decided to humor him. Did he have a choice? Not exactly.

"I need you, Hannibal. _Please,"_ he said pointedly, making direct eye contact with Hannibal for the first time. Hannibal would remember the last time Will had said those very words, he knew—when Will had been bent over Hannibal's office desk, desperate enough to beg.

Hannibal gave a knowing smile. Will wanted nothing more than to tell Hannibal that he loved him, and that he was going to get him out.

But there was a time and place for everything. Will watched as Hannibal was fastened into a straitjacket and had a mask strapped over his face. It was demeaning, Will thought. Dehumanizing. Unforgiveable.

As they were loaded into a police vehicle, Will went over his own plan in his head. Which, admittedly, wasn't much of a plan. Wait for an opening, and either ambush the authorities or just run off with Hannibal in tow somehow. Take care of the Dragon somehow. Get somewhere far away—where exactly, he didn't know; call Molly, apologize, leave his things in her name, make sure she and Walter were comfortable. Try to adjust to life with Hannibal and hope that he hadn't made the biggest mistake of his life.

He didn't get a chance to execute his plan. The plan to throw off the original plan was ironically thrown off yet again, by none other than the Great Red Dragon. For once, Will didn't want to kill him; he wanted to thank him. The feeling of gratitude didn't last long.

Things hadn't gone according to plan, but Will found that they rarely did whenever Hannibal was around. The Dragon had gotten rid of their obstacles. He'd provided them with a ride. All that was left was their grand finisher. The slaying of the Great Red Dragon.

He and Hannibal slid into the vehicle, with Hannibal at the wheel. Neither of them spoke in the first ten minutes of the ride. There was nothing to be said. Will had made his choice, and Hannibal knew it now.

Will was first to break the silence. "Take the prison pants off," he suggested casually. "They look uncomfortable."

Hannibal just smirked.

~

The house overlooking the Atlantic coast was beautiful, and Will wished that they could stay there forever.

They bided their time until the inevitable moment of the Dragon's arrival. They discussed where to go, provided that they lived their encounter with the Dragon. Hannibal was saddened by the fact that a return to Italy was near impossible; he wanted to show Will Florence. Will didn't care where they went, as long as it was far away.

Will wasn't sure what emotion to feel. "I don't know if I can save myself," he told Hannibal suddenly, not knowing what provoked the comment but feeling that it was relevant. He thought for a moment. "Maybe that's just fine."

And it was. He felt ready to do whatever needed to be done.

Hannibal took the first shot from the Dragon. He collapsed and fell, holding his hand to the wound to stop the bleeding. Will stared down at him, felt the blade he held in his pocket, remembered the day in Italy he'd planned on using it on Hannibal. How foolish he'd been then.

Wait until the right moment, Hannibal had warned him. The Dragon was strong, and Will knew that from experience, having felt the Dragon's raw power when he threw his weight against an elevator. Don't underestimate his strength, his agility. Wait until the moment is right.

Will must have felt the right moment a second too late, because he didn't see the Dragon's arm whipping in his direction until he felt a knife plunge into his cheek. There would be a new wound added to Will's collection of scars, he realized.

He'd fallen, but he wouldn't give the Dragon the satisfaction of seeing him stay that way. He ripped the blade from his own skin, ignoring the searing pain and the hot blood falling down his face, and thrust it into the Dragon's thigh. He was surprised by how much he wanted to see the Dragon fall, how much he wanted to rip that knife back out and thrust it into his heart instead.

He was even more surprised when the Dragon hesitated for only a second before pulling the blade back out and stabbing Will in the shoulder. Will wasn't keeping score, but he imagined that if someone were, he and Hannibal would be losing. That fear was confirmed when the Dragon, seemingly not in pain at all, grabbed Hannibal by the neck and tightened his grip.

No, that wasn't going to happen. Will would be damned if he suffered through all of those years without Hannibal only to have him die the first night they could be together for real. He wanted to cut off both the Dragon's hands and make him eat them, as punishment for daring to lay a hand on Hannibal.

He settled for the next best thing and stabbed the Dragon in the back as hard as he could. Strong or not, not even the Dragon could handle it and released his grip on Hannibal, who fell in a heap.

Will wanted nothing more than to run to his side, kiss him, make sure he was okay. He would, but now wasn't the time. Not when there was work to be done. He sent Hannibal a look that he knew he would understand; Will's face was coated in blood, even his teeth, and he was struggling to keep himself upright, but Hannibal locked eyes with him and he knew.

Will dragged the knife across the Dragon's abdomen, relished in the scream of agony that erupted from his throat and the sound of blood splashing onto the ground. And finally, the Dragon collapsed, and Will studied the blood for the first time, illuminated only by the moon. Yes, it did look black in the moonlight. Will studied his bloodied hand in awe, wondering whose blood it could be.

He saw Hannibal drag himself to his feet. "It really does look black in the moonlight," he commented, repeating his thoughts; his own voice sounded foreign to him.

He limped towards Hannibal, craving his touch. Hannibal embraced him gently, tenderly, and God, it must have been the most alive Will had felt in months. Years.

"See, Will," Hannibal whispered hoarsely. "This was all I ever wanted for you. For both of us."

Coming from Hannibal, it felt like the purest form of love Will had ever experienced. He understood; there was a moment of clarity and he felt himself fall in love with Hannibal all over again.

"It's beautiful," he said genuinely. He leaned his head against Hannibal's chest, listening to his beating heart.

The sound of the ocean waves hitting the cliff behind them met Will's ears, and he knew exactly what to do: let fate decide on the future.

Slowly, he edged them closer to the cliff, and Hannibal didn't protest. Let fate decide. They could live or they could die, and Will was okay with either.

Let fate decide. If they died, they wouldn't need to run. He wouldn't need to make that heartbreaking phone call to Molly. They wouldn't need to spend their lives in hiding. They could be together in the afterlife—yeah, maybe it would be in Hell, but Will could survive that if it meant being by Hannibal's side.

If they lived, that meant the start to a new life. That meant waking up to Hannibal's face every day and falling asleep next to him every night. It meant a life of luxury Will had never wanted for himself before. Will was surprised at himself when he felt a burst of excitement at the prospect of hunting by Hannibal's side. For once, he wasn't disgusted at himself for wanting it.

So off the cliff they went. Will pressed his lips against Hannibal's, just in case it would be the last time. Hannibal's arms tightened around him.

It wasn't a fairy tale ending, but it was an ending with Hannibal, and that was enough.


End file.
